Forgotten
by TwilightObsessed91
Summary: I know this has been done a lot but I was depressed and thinking about Hetalia, so this was born. TRIGGER WARNING! Canada is sick of feeling forgotten and decides to make them remember him, but his brother refuses to let him. Rated for like two swear words and suicidal themes(may be inaccuracte due to lack of expirience). Sorry if it is OOC.


Forgotten. Everyone forgot him. But this was it, no more. Maybe…if he died…they'd remember him. This was, like usual, all America's fault. His own twin brother forgot him; they looked exactly alike! But Canada wasn't noticeable…or original…or special…

"Hey America, about your brother-" Britain had began, being cut off by the obnoxious American.

"Woah! I have a brother? Dude, that's totally awesome! Have I met him?"

"I'm right here!" Canada had shouted, shooting to his feet.

But, of course, his raised voice still only came out as a slightly louder whisper. Thankfully, it was enough to attract the attention of the other nineteen year old nation.

"Oh, right! Canadia!" he walked over to Canada and put a hand on his shoulder, "Almost forgot about ya there, bro!"

Canada cast his eyes downward, clenching his hands into fists tightly. All he wanted to do was smack that cocky grin off his sibling's face. But he couldn't. He wouldn't win a fight against his brother. So instead, he faked a whispery laugh and forced himself to smile, though if anyone were truly looking, they'd see his eyes-full of grief and welling with tears which threatened to spill over-betrayed his act of glee.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm your brother! The one who…grew up with you…"

"Yep, well, see ya later, bro!" America called as he walked away, his short attention span causing him to lose interest and find something else to do. Something less boring than his twin brother.

Canada sighed, allowing his façade to drop the moment he began shuffling home, drawing his coat tightly around him as the wind ruffled is hair and tugged at his scarf. Snow piles heaped on either side of the road, cleared earlier this morning, as winter in Canada could be rough. Tall standing maple and oak trees towered over him on either side. The sun was low in the sky, casting the world into shadows, and lighting the sky with an abstract painting of flying colors tossed about like an exploding rainbow. To anyone else, the sight would be cherished-truly a magnificent beauty. But, not only was Canada fairly used to the sight, as he lived here, he also just wasn't in the mood to care…about anything.

He plopped down on his bed, golden curls falling over his eyes as his body heaved up and down, wracked with sobs. He rolled up his sleeved, revealing thin white scars against the pale, milky skin of his wrists. He was going to do it this time…he wouldn't back down.

Most people were under the assumption that nations couldn't die, but that was incorrect. Nations were not immortal. However, it took a lot to kill a nation, and usually it could only be done by another nation, or oneself. Self harm was the most usual cause of a nation's death-although the feat of a nation dying in itself was a rare event-and was usually brought about the nightmarish haunting of the battle field. Usually, older nations were the ones to die this way. Maybe Canada could be remembered as the first young nation to kill himself. Maybe then people wouldn't think he was a ghost, or think he was unimportant, or forget him entirely. He pulled out a sharp razor and held it against the inside of his wrist; the silver blade gleamed in the last visible rays of the golden sun. Tears slipped down his cheeks, the salty liquid rushing over his lips as he bit down and slid the razor across his arm.

Kumojiro clawed at the door, concerned for his master…what was his name again?...but Canada had shut the door and had no intention of opening it.

_Pain!_

It hurt like all Hell. Usually he'd stop now; the pain would be too much. But today, no, today he was going to do it. Finally, he wasn't going to be a coward. He'd be brave and embrace death with open arms.

_Forgotten._

He wasn't important anyway. How could he be important when nobody could even remember who he was? No. Death was the best option. Right? Doubt flickered in the young man's mind. Was he making a mistake? He stared down at the crimson which dripped down his arm hauntingly. Was this wrong?

Twins seem to have the uncanny ability to just know when something is wrong with their other half. And America, though earlier that day he had forgotten about his brother entirely, knew that Canada was in danger. He didn't know why or how, he just knew that the other blonde was. He called Britain, and then called France, and then rushed over to Canada's house as quickly as possible. Maybe he was overreacting and was wrong, but if something was trying to hurt Canada, he'd take the chance of looking like an idiot. After all, he was the hero. America knew that heroes could never forsake anyone, especially their own flesh and blood.

Blood. It oozed out of the shallow wound slowly. Canada traced the blade over his other arm, deeper this time, and got the desired effect. Red liquid gushed out of his wrist at a rapid pace, and Canada released a cry of pain at the greater sting. Then his ears perked up a little bit. He could've sworn he heard a noise!

"Canadia? Bro? Are you here?" America's voice echoed throughout the house.

Shit! His brother was here! Why was America here?!

"Go away!"Canada whisper-shouted, but if America heard him he didn't show it.

Canada grabbed a pillow off the bed and placed it over his arms as he saw the bedroom door open. America peeked inside, a concerned expression placed placidly on his face, replacing the usual cheerful smile.

"You…okay, bro?"

Though America could be a bit slow at times, even he was able to assess the situation pretty easily. The still bloody razor peaked out from under the pillow which covered the other boy's wrists. The American stalked over and tossed the throw pillow aside, surveying the damage done by his brother.

"Canadia, what did you do?!" America snatched one of Canada's wrists-careful not to touch the sensitive cuts-to inspect the wounds. His eyes scanned over the healed white lines; he'd been doing this for a while? "Canadia…w-why would you-"

Canada snatched his hand away and looked down, trying to end the conversation by not speaking, but his slightly older brother wouldn't allow it.

"Canadia, come on, talk to me, dude!" he sat down next to the other blonde on the bed, "Please?"

"Why do you care?" Canada questioned, chancing a glance at his brother, "You didn't even remember me today."

"Yeah, well," America sighed, "you know me. Not the smartest country…"

Canada smiled a bit at the statement, however false America thought it to be. He knew America was attempting to comfort him. Finally, Canada fully looked at his brother, America's concerned expression replaced with a reassuring smile.

"Just don't try this again, okay? Please." America said.

"Canada nodded. "Alright America."

"Thanks, bro." America hugged him with one arm quickly and stood, "Wanna get a hamburger or something?"

"How about some pancakes?"

America rolled his eyes but nodded, laughing, "Kay Canadia. Oh and bro?"

"Yeah?" Canada got to his feet and began walking with his brother.

"You're welcome."

Canada rolled his eyes and smiled.

**A/N yeah, I know it's not that good. I hope it's not too out of character, but if it is, I apologize. I swear I'm normally a much better writer. I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters and please give feedback. And remember, crazy people have more fun!**

**Peace and love and make pasta not war!**


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